


A Good Night

by noelroeimfisher



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Camping, Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 11:17:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1508525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noelroeimfisher/pseuds/noelroeimfisher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is only my second fic and I can’t do summaries, but basically this is Ian x Mickey + camping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Good Night

**Author's Note:**

> www.noel-fisher-is-so-important.tumblr.com 
> 
> (◡‿◡✿)

“Fuck!”

Mickey hurled the matchbox to the ground, scattering matches everywhere. He’d been trying to get this fire started for what felt like an entire lifetime, and it just wouldn’t catch.

“Mick, it’s fine! It’s not your fault; it’s been raining for days. Shit’s too wet.”

Mickey didn’t respond, instead kneeling down angrily to pick up the matches he had thrown. _It would be just my luck if these matches that refused to start a fire for me somehow lit themselves and burned the whole fucking town to the ground_ , he thought. He angrily shoved them back into the small box, which he then angrily shoved into his pocket, before sitting down on the log. Angrily.

_I’m angry_ , he thought.

“Mick…” Ian sat down next to him. He ventured to drape an arm around his boyfriend’s tense shoulders, and was swiftly pushed away. But there was something about Mickey in this choleric state that was always so alluring.

“Okay. I’ll just sit here then.”

Mickey put his head in his hands, taking a deep breath. He clung to his silence, though, so Ian continued.

“Mick, I know you could start a fire if things weren’t so drenched. You have nothing to prove to me. You’re very manly and you can do manly things.” He was teasing, but he meant every word.

“Fuck off, man.” Mickey tried and failed to suppress a coy smile, finally meeting Ian’s eyes when Ian bumped his own shoulder against Mickey’s.

Ian made another attempt to wrap his arm around Mickey, this time finding that Mickey allowed him to, even leaning his head onto Ian’s shoulder.

“That’s not why I’m angry,” he mumbled, barely audible.

Ian furrowed his brow, his fingers dancing tenderly across Mickey’s shoulder. “Why, then?”

“This was supposed to be a good night for you.” His voice was so tiny, but sincere.

Ian placed a gentle kiss on the top of Mickey’s head, immediately understanding what he meant. They had been through a bit of a rough patch the past couple of weeks, with Ian consistently struggling to even make it out of bed some mornings. Mickey had been so patient and so gentle with him. _Mickey planned this camping trip for me. So I could get out of the house and finally have a ‘good night’. He’s angry with himself for not making it perfect. But it is perfect. Mickey is perfect._

“Mickey.” Ian’s voice was kind and warm as he turned to face him, placing each leg on either side of the log, and a hand on Mickey’s thigh. He rested his chin on Mickey’s shoulder, speaking softly into his ear.

“This already has been a good night and it will continue to be a good night and then tomorrow will be a good day. I don’t care about the fucking fire.”

“You don’t?”

“You’re here.” Ian wrapped his arms around Mickey’s waist.

Mickey melted a bit at his boyfriend’s words, but wasn’t yet satisfied.

“Well, what are we going to eat?”

“We have stuff to make peanut butter and jellies, don’t we?”

Mickey sighed, chewing at his lower lip. _Those are for tomorrow._ He had planned this so carefully. _If we eat those tonight, we’ll have to go home early tomorrow because we won’t have anything to eat for lunch. I stole a fucking tent for this; I’m not cutting it short._

“We could go somewhere nice for lunch tomorrow. On our way back.” Ian reassured him, somehow reading his mind in the way he so often does, before taking Mickey’s hands into his own.

“And also you have really nice hands and all those sticks and leaves and shit are a bunch of bitches for not playing along.”

“Fuck you.” A devilish grin spread across Mickey’s face, lips parting in an invitation, his tongue snaking out to push at the corner of his mouth, while his eyes stayed locked on Ian’s. “You’re always going on about my fucking hands.”

  
“I’m just saying…” Ian traced along Mickey’s knuckles with his fingers. “I feel like _I’m_ on fire when you touch me. I’m not sure why the _sticks_ don’t feel the same.”

“Okay, that is literally the dumbest thing you’ve ever said,” Mickey laughed, punctuating the indisputable fact with a kiss. _That’ll teach him to say cheesy shit like that._

They had been dancing around the possibility of a kiss all night, Mickey not sure Ian was ready after the week he’d had, and Ian unable to quell the voice in his head that wove intricate lies about Mickey’s (imaginary) disinterest. They melted into one another suddenly and with abandon, the kiss immediately deepening into much more than the “shut the fuck up” kiss that it was originally intended to be.

“Tent…” Ian brought Mickey to his feet, their lips never parting, both boys already feeling breathless.

“Dinner first.” Mickey’s tone was assertive, but his inability to detach himself from his boyfriend seemed to suggest otherwise.

“Mmm, not hungry.”

Ian’s hand on the back of Mickey’s head, inching him ever closer to the warmth of the tent and the guarantee of being fucked was incredibly convincing, but: _Has he even eaten anything today? He’s definitely lost some weight since a couple weeks ago._

“I’m not even letting you look at my ass until you’ve eaten dinner.”

Ian took a step back, irritated. “Mickey. I can take care of myself, you don’t need to fucking force feed me.” Nonetheless, he grabbed the bag of bread off the ground and began hunting for the peanut butter and jelly. _Fuck him for controlling me like that. Fuck him for knowing exactly how to control me. Fuck him and his stupid perfect ass. Fuck his ass. Fuck._

“All I’m sayin’ is, you’re gonna need your strength tonight, tough guy,” Mickey offered, his salacious grin effortlessly lightening the mood.

Ian never ate anything so quickly.

//

The space between finishing their dinner and finding their naked limbs entangled on the pile of sleeping bags and blankets in the tent was both incredibly tiny and ridiculously hazy. Neither boy would later be able to recount exactly how it had happened.

And yet there they were, needy and in love, the previous weeks of uninvited chastity fueling their wantonness.

Mickey’s mind had gone blank for a while, but he was suddenly aware of Ian’s fingers inside him, his tongue dancing around them, coaxing a steady stream of pre-cum from his cock. And _fuck that feels good_ , but _tonight is supposed to be about him_ , and _holy shit right there, right there, right there_ , but _I shouldn’t be letting him do this_. Mickey reached down to push Ian away from him. “Stop.”

Ian knew he wasn’t _that_ close, not yet.

“I thought you loved this?” _I know you love this._ Mickey emitted a lewd growl as Ian’s fingers returned to that spot that made him writhe in complete bliss.

“I do… _fuck_ …I do. I just – this isn’t about me.” Mickey pushed Ian away again, this time flipping him onto his back, taking his dick into his mouth. “I just want you to feel good.”

But Ian wasn’t having any of that. “Yeah, well I don’t feel good unless you feel good, so deal with it.” Ian flipped him back over, returning to his previous mission of slowly unraveling Mickey with his fingers and tongue. Which he was fucking good at. “Okay, big guy?” He gave Mickey’s cock a few solid strokes, for good measure.

Mickey wanted to reply with a hearty “fuck you,” but the latter half of the familiar phrase got stuck somewhere between his brain and his tongue, as his back arched off the ground. “Fuck…”

“Mmm, you like this, Mick?” Ian’s tongue was circling his entrance, his fingers delving ever deeper, his other hand caressing Mickey’s abdomen.

Mickey was way too far gone for his insecurities to have any clout at this point, allowing him to offer an earnest response: “Fuck yeah, Ian.”

Mickey was soon completely disoriented, lost in the intense pleasure his boyfriend was giving him, but returned to consciousness when he realized how dangerously close to the edge he was. _Don’t make me come like this, not without you inside of me._

“Ian……Ian – fuck. Stop. Stop. Please.” Mickey took a moment to calm down before reversing their positions again, taking Ian’s dick into his mouth.

“You don’t have to do that, Mick. I’m ready.” _I’ve been ready all night._

“I want to.”

_…to feel how fucking hard you are against my lips and to taste how much you want me_ , he added silently. Maybe he’d say that out loud next time.

And this time it was Ian on the edge, suddenly pushing Mickey away, a mere fraction of a second from coming in Mickey’s mouth. And fuck if that image didn’t make it even harder to cool down. _Don’t make me come like this, not without me inside of you._

Within seconds, Mickey was on his back again, Ian positioning himself at his entrance and searching for the inevitable approval in Mickey’s eyes before pushing inside.

Fucking face to face wasn’t exactly new for them, although it hadn’t always been this way. Mickey had always craved it, always needed it, but for the longest time couldn’t allow himself to have it. Eventually that changed. It felt vulnerable, but vulnerable felt fucking _good_ when those green eyes connected with his, promising to always keep him safe.

They lasted as long as they could, finally coming together, Mickey in Ian’s hand, and Ian still thrusting in and out of him, refusing to slow his pace until they had ridden out their shared high.

Ian knew about how Mickey loved to feel Ian come inside of him. And Ian definitely knew about how Mickey loved to be touched after coming, how he loved to feel Ian still moving inside him, still stroking his cock until it became almost painfully sensitive. And Ian loved how Mickey loved those things, how he still needed his touch even after he came. And so Ian didn’t stop, though his motions became increasingly languid, as he gently milked Mickey’s cock, loving the way he kept coming in tiny bursts, and loving the way Mickey whimpered softly, his moans becoming increasingly fragile and weak. They always continued this way for as long as they could take it, giving as much of themselves to each other as they possibly could, until they were each begging the other to stop.

And this would happen a million more times that night, and into the morning, and the next day, and the day after that, and when Ian would fall into another rough patch months later, Mickey would never once question why this was the man he chose and would continue to choose forever.

It was a good night.


End file.
